


a mountain's gift

by tootsonnewts



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Fantasy AU, Happy Birthday Shiro!, M/M, a pet crow and a regretful mountain, noble! shiro, oracle! keith, shiro's mission: a walking simulator
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-28
Updated: 2019-02-28
Packaged: 2019-11-07 05:29:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,001
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17954456
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tootsonnewts/pseuds/tootsonnewts
Summary: A soft breeze sweeps by again, this time carrying a new sound, a breath of life. An offer. Long ago, Mount Galra saw Shiro robbed of his dignity and his arm. Now, it calls him back to offer a gift. He feels the intentions on the air, tastes the promise of reward thick on his tongue.He is here.nearly a year after shiro's escape from mount galra, it calls him back to offer a gift.





	a mountain's gift

**Author's Note:**

> it's shiro's birthday, and i literally just wanted him to take a walk and meet keith.  
> so here's shiro's high fantasy hike, brought to you by my love for the best man of all time.
> 
> enjoy!

A crow lands upon Shiro’s shoulder, shaking out gleaming oil-slick wings and clacking a sharp, time-jagged beak in his ear. He turns his face to the sky, squinting into the harsh light of the afternoon sun. It reached its apex thirty minutes ago, and the heat is merciless upon his skin. The damaged skin across his nose burns with it, and his shoulder aches beneath the bird’s talons. She’s always been loyal, but she’s never been light.

“What have you found me, Onyx?”

Shiro reaches up to scratch at her chin, laughing quietly as the bird nips his earlobe affectionately. She drops a stone in Shiro’s hand, glass smooth and gleaming violet as the sky in a summer sunset. It thrums in his palm, small pulses of energy that reverberate through his skin and across his nerves. Shiro squats, dropping his other hand to the ground to push callused fingertips into the sun warmed soil. The pulse of the stone intensifies, beating a cadence in his blood that swirls throughout his body. The soil pushed beneath his fingernails takes in the melody and returns its own. It’s a tentative pattern, almost shy in its statement. These things always take time, though. He slips the stone in his pocket, patting the surface to reassure its safety.

Shiro cranes his head to look up the side of Mount Galra. The light of the sun shimmers against it, heat emanating from the slopes in waves. It curls and blurs the scenery, sending trees and shrubs into undefined blobs of greens and yellows and reds. A light breeze blows down from the peak, caressing his face with the lightest of tendrils. He closes his eyes to listen, but it doesn’t seem ready to speak quite yet. That’s just fine with him; there will be plenty of time for introductions.

Onyx squawks from his shoulder, pecking impatiently at the muscle in his neck.

“I apologize, girl,” Shiro croons to the bird, withdrawing a piece of elk jerky from his satchel and passing it off to her. “You’ve done well, thank you.”

The crow clicks in his ear and lifts off from his shoulder, flying high to patrol circles in the sky overhead. Shiro sets his hand back against the ground and smiles down at the soft earth.

“Whenever you find yourself ready.”

He stands, brushing the dust from his knees, and sets off for the peak of the mountain.

A soft breeze sweeps by again, this time carrying a new sound, a breath of life. An offer. Long ago, Mount Galra saw Shiro robbed of his dignity and his arm. Now, it calls him back to offer a gift. He feels the intentions on the air, tastes the promise of reward thick on his tongue.

_He is here._

It strikes him suddenly, the intense knowledge of this fact. Shiro doesn’t know who _he_ is, or how he even knows this is his journey, but he knows someone important is here and it’s up to Shiro to find him. The call of the mountain pulls him onward, beckoning him to climb ever higher toward the peak. The further he ascends, the shakier his knees become. It’s barely eight months past, the time he was a slave here. His body remembers viscerally the trials he was forced to complete in his year at the hands of Warmonger Zarkon in his quest for absolute domination of all realms.

He remembers the death. He remembers the destruction. He feels the dismemberment still, a ghost at his shoulder.

And yet, just as easily as these sensations wash through him, they fade away, chased out by a higher purpose driving his steps. He squints up toward the sky once more, seeking Onyx in flight. She’s around somewhere close, he can hear her calls clearly. Neither of them expected this journey, least of all today — his twenty-seventh name day.

But the call of the mountain was strong and he could not turn it down.

Shiro has never been a superstitious man. The reality of living has always drawn his head away from the clouds. Of course he’s yearned for more, just like any other man, but a sickly childhood and the promise of an early death robbed him of the youthful innocence he may have once had. He looks to his severed arm wryly. At least Zarkon’s witch gave him something of a parting gift.

To reach his twenty-seventh name day would have been a dream a mere handful of years ago. Now, with a life of time stretched out before him, Shiro very nearly doesn’t know what to do with himself.

_Keep moving forward._

And so he will.

The base of the mountain is thick with trees. Tall oaks and pines older than himself stand straight and proud, coating the bottom third of the mountain in a lush, green skirt. He rests his palm on several of their trunks as he passes, wishing them well and thanking them for their strength. Onyx caws from above in agreement.

It’s a hot day, but the canopy of leaves overhead coat him in filtered, dappled sunlight. It’s warm and comforting without being suffocating, and he breathes in the moist, herbal air with appreciation. The woods are quiet as he passes through, occasional birdsong punctuating his walk, although much less than he would think.

His afternoon goes by easily this way, the sun reaching her apex and beginning to pass across the sky just as he emerges from the scrub line. It will be evening soon, and he still has much land to cover. Onyx glides down to his shoulder and settles, picking at her feathers and rubbing along his cheek.

They sit in the shade of a willow tree for a water break, Shiro tipping a thin trickle from his water skin for the crow to drink. As she quietly sips, the sound of snapping branches startles Shiro, drawing his attention back to the woods. He stands abruptly, reaching for the sword slung across his back. Onyx rockets into the sky to watch from above, trilling as she glides.

The sounds grow louder and more frequent and Shiro raises his sword, prepared to strike. The sounds of cicadas drum up and peak, buzzing in his ears and setting him further on edge. He grits his teeth as the disturbance reaches the edge of the trees and finally—

A doe emerges, trailing three small fawns behind her. She pauses, looking up at him as she emerges. Her big, wet eyes blink slowly as they stare each other down, time slowing down around the moment. Shiro lowers his sword. Suddenly, she blinks and turns, bounding back into the trees with her young following behind. It feels like a blessing of some sort.

The mountain’s breeze curls around him once more. It wraps itself around his body, pulling at him, goading him onward.

_There is an end yet to be seen._

Shiro smiles at the mountain and follows.

Beyond the forest, the trees fade into tall wildgrasses. They’re light and golden, feathering out at the ends that sway in the breeze. Shiro steps into them, their fronds tickling at his wrists as he moves. He’s only been to the ocean once in his life, but the sound here is very much like he remembers. Onyx races overhead, her shadow lengthening and blurring over the soft surface of the sea of grass. Shiro pauses to watch, smiling at the patterns she traces from above. He turns in place, surveying the slope around him.

It’s peaceful here, in a nearly jarring sort of way. When last he was on Mount Galra, he was delirious with pain and fatigue, and therefore never granted the opportunity to take in the way the scenery changes so suddenly. It’s almost as if the mountain is divided into zones, each region occupied with its own separate ecosystem. It’s breathtaking and wild, and Shiro feels so very small as he takes it in.

The next region above is within sight, thanks to the lowered height of the grasses surrounding him. That region, he fully remembers. That region haunts him each night he gasps awake from his fractured dreams. Shiro drags in a deep, shuddering breath, his fingers tightening in a fist as he draws himself to his full height and presses forward. The mountain murmurs its encouragement as he moves once more.

_It is nearly finished._

The terrain is harsher above the line of the grasses he leaves behind. All around him, huge boulders dot the landscape, surrounded by smaller rocks and deadened shrubberies. The life here feels drained away, the land humming with fatigue all around him.

Shiro stoops down, settling his hand against one of the boulders nearby. Galra has long ago given up its reserve, but now, as he nears her tip, it’s almost as if the mountain refuses to silence itself. It pulses and chatters and reaches out to him, enveloping his mind in her relentless contact.

The mountain offers its feelings of relief at his arrival, regret for his past, eagerness for him to reach the apex and claim the olive branch it offers. It’s a constant pulse behind his eyes, a drumbeat pounding a cadence for his footsteps.

The trail becomes craggy as Shiro nears the peak of the mountain, a physical reminder of the dangers once perched atop the world. The arena at the very top is long demolished since his time as Champion, but its footers remain, crumbling to dust at the mountain’s mercy. He can just make out the stones being retaken by nature as he approaches them in the setting sun. It’s taken the entire day to scale the slope. Shiro and Onyx both are tired, sluggish in their movements. His focus wanes, eyes wandering to track his surroundings, a habit long-imbued from his last stretch spent in the arena.

Much of his time since his rescue has been spent in recovery and healing, but now, as he is presented with the tangible reminder of his year-long ordeal, he can’t help but want to face it head on. To put it firmly behind him so that he can move forward.

The wind blows again, taking his attention and directing it somewhere new. Nestled in the scraped out husk of the arena, settled directly in the center of once blood-soaked sands, a fire burns large and bright. Its flames dance unnaturally, in thin tendrils reaching toward the sky like fingers extended toward the gods. The heart of the fire burns bright and otherworldly, flickering emerald-ruby-sapphire-amethyst.

The world here is silent. Not even the fire makes a sound. All around, the air shimmers with a heavy presence that Shiro can’t quite place. It’s an unusual signature, thrumming fast and frantic like the beat of a hummingbird’s wings. Onyx swoops down once more, pressing tightly to his neck and rubbing in behind his ear.

“You feel it too, don’t you, girl?”

“She is an intelligent creature,” a strong, quiet voice says, syllables floating along the air. Shiro whirls around to find the source, but can’t pin down from where it comes. It’s magic, he thinks. It must be. The last time he experienced a feeling like this was at the hands of—

“The witch is no longer here,” the voice answers his thought. Shiro turns again, catching sight of a man emerging from behind the flames of the fire. He is slight, although his frame is packed tight with compact muscle, and draped in silks dyed in the deepest of garnet reds. Jewels and chains drip from his neck and arms and wrists. His hair is done up in a simple braid, slung over one shoulder and dotted through with small white flowers. “She’s no longer anywhere.”

The man steps forward on bare feet, telegraphing his intent as he advances. It isn’t until Shiro sees the swirling patterns of ink on his skin that he realizes that the man is—

“An oracle. You’re an oracle.”

The corner of the man’s mouth lifts in the slightest of smirks.

“How intuitive of you.”

_It is presented. He is here. You are blessed._

The mountain’s presence shifts away then, fading to the background and dissipating entirely as the oracle draws up in front of Shiro.

“And you are the Champion.” Shiro flinches. The man’s face softens. He looks around at the demolished structure surrounding them. “Within these walls you were, anyway.” He reaches out a hand, long fingers wrapped in silver and gold rings clinking together as he settles his palm in the center of Shiro’s chest. “Now, you are a man caught between the past and the future.”

Shiro sucks in a sharp breath. “You could tell all that just from sight?”

The oracle laughs, a husky sound, yet still somehow light and tinkling. “No, Shiro. I get the papers. I’m not a barbarian.”

Shiro’s cheeks heat up, a combination of embarrassment and endearment at hearing his name so jovially from the lips of the man before him.

“Keith.”

“Beg pardon?”

“Name’s Keith. C’mon.” The oracle drops his hand and wanders off toward the fire. He settles down on an overstuffed pouf alongside the flames and beckons Shiro to his side. “Have a seat, big guy.”

Shiro does as told, settling himself down on another cushion, trying hard not to fall off the too-small surface. Keith laughs at his misfortune. “It told me you’d be coming, but not how big you are. I apologize that I wasn’t better prepared.”

Shiro opens his mouth to refute the apology, but Keith’s full statement registers just as he does.

“It?”

“The mountain. Come on now, it’s spoken to you along your entire climb.” It has, of course, but still. Keith speaks about the mountain as if they’ve held lengthy conversations. “We don’t talk like you would probably think, but it passes me messages from time to time. It told me it would bring you here. I wasn’t sure if it was you I read in the flames. Something about your spirit is obscured from my sight. I imagine it’s all”—Keith gestures at Shiro—“ _that._ ”

“You just pointed to all of me.”

“Yeah.” Keith smiles.

“Seems a little rude for someone you’ve just met.”

“I’ve already met you a hundred times over, Shiro. In all sorts of realities and all kinds of dimensions. We’ve traveled the stars, explored the oceans, wandered the hills. In some timelines, we never meet.”

Shiro raises an eyebrow at that. “And this timeline?”

Keith smirks up at him, his eyes bright and mischievous in the dancing fire.

“In this timeline, you and I do exceptional things together.”

“Exceptional things?”

“Yes.” Keith leans back on his pouf, settling his palms in the sand and tipping his head back to look up at the night sky. “The stars will be at their brightest soon. We should sleep.”

Shiro only just arrived, only just met this perfect stranger that somehow doesn’t feel at all like a stranger. Keith feels like a piece of the world that was missing from him long before he even knew it was gone. Keith feels like the solution to a dilemma he was unaware of having. Keith feels like the missing piece to a puzzle Shiro is just about to begin piecing together. He just needs to figure out _why._

“That is something we’ll need to figure out together. We have a long journey ahead of us, though. We’ll get there.”

Keith stands, dusting his hands off on the front of his silks, and disappears into the night momentarily. When he returns, he grasps two sleeping rolls in his arms. He offers one to Shiro, turning to lay his own out when Shiro takes it. They lay down beneath the stars, gazing up at the moon as she keeps watch over their sky.

Thoughts race through Shiro’s mind as they lay together quietly. This trip has been a mystery, the impetus a call of apology from the mountain itself, the promise of a gift in return for a bit more of his time. Now that he’s reached the culmination of the earth’s mission for him, he’s unsure of where to go from here.

“I’m sure you have questions. I do, too. But I trust the mountain and I trust that our paths are crossing now for a reason. I’m looking forward to our future.”

That thought gives Shiro pause. He knows the mountain has assigned him to find Keith for a reason, to travel away with him at his side, but he can’t help to want some plainly spoken answers for once. A gift is fine, but Keith is a person and Shiro is lost.

“And what is our future, precisely?”

“Every king needs an oracle, Shiro.”

Shiro laughs loudly at that. “I’m no king.”

Keith looks over to him, one eyebrow raised. The ground beneath Shiro’s back thrums, mirroring Keith’s subtle rebuke. “Really? Interesting.” He lays back down on his back. “We should sleep. We’ve got a long way to go if we’re going to head home soon.”

Home, he says, as if this mountain hasn’t been his home for who knows how long. Home, as if Shiro isn’t a complete stranger the mountain dumped at his proverbial doorstep. Home, as if Keith really does plan on sticking around for a long time, through whatever strange future he seems to have seen.

“Are you sure about all this?” Shiro asks, if only to settle his own heart. “We’ve only just met.”

Keith scoffs into the night air. “Oracle, remember? I haven’t just met you.”

“Right, how silly of me,” Shiro answers, deadpan.

“Oh, and Shiro?”

“Yes?”

“Happy name day.”

Keith yawns and turns away to pillow his head on an arm. His breathing evens out quickly, slipping into sleep faster than anyone Shiro has ever met in his lifetime. His own eyes become heavy sooner than normal, an effect, he suspects, of the mountain’s will.

_This is my gift to you. You need never return again._

**Author's Note:**

> feel free to come visit me over on [twitter](https://twitter.com/_tootsonnewts), where i talk too much and make bad jokes!
> 
> have a great night!  
> *blows a kiss to the sky for shiro*


End file.
